


Bloody Buddha

by Twinkeeper



Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Genre: Alternate Universe, CSI Night shift is falling apart, Gen, Grissom is deaf, Gruesome serial killer, Hurt!Grissom, M/M, Nick is an FBI agent, Nick needs a Hug, Overall not a happy story, Some ripped off characters out of Thomas Harris books, Too intense bromance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-12
Updated: 2014-09-11
Packaged: 2018-02-17 01:42:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2292269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twinkeeper/pseuds/Twinkeeper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two years after a terrible tragedy ripped the heart of the  Las Vegas CSI apart, a summon from the past ask Gil to come out from his shell. He thought he had left everything behind, only to find that he could never leave.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't particularly remember when I write this story. But at that time, William Petersen is still in, the Sara thing is still vague, UST are more plausible between Gil and Nick than Gil and Warrick (or Nick and Warrick, as a matter of fact), and Sanders is still in the lab. That far huh... This unfinished one is also another casualty of crashing cheap computer, expensive but bad internet connection, slowly falling out of love with the tv series, and overall bad timing. 
> 
> Once again, I find myself immensely grateful to know that someone is actually archiving this story, since I don't have anything left. At all. Over the years, there were people wondering when I would continue to write its following chapters, and I honestly couldn't answer because I didn't even remember what I had written so far! Now, with my AXN channel rerun the old school CSI again, it is my duty to salvage the attempted fiction I wrote while this is still alive in the web world. I hope I can continue again soon.. :D

The house was unbelievably cozy, Jim Brass admitted. It was a traditional pine and cedar winter house, pretty fitting in Vermont hillside, yet fully equipped with modern amenities. There was no doubt that the site, the house, and the interior decoration was pure Sally Grissom. The meticulous, high tech electronic system was Gil's.

"It's a fresh start," Sally said, noticing the roaming, appreciating eyes. There was a soft, underlying warning in her tone. "He stopped having nightmares once we moved here. It wasn't easy to banish all those darkness lying underneath him."

Brass could only give her an honest, apologetic nod. "It's just a small favor, Sally."

Sally, a petite, attractive forty years old, gave him a quick burst of sad laugh. "You lie badly, Jim."

What more could he say? Brass politely smiled.

"He's totally deaf now," Sally said. "Despite the fact that it didn't affect his self-confidence, nor capability, he realized that he couldn't go back to do what he usually did."

"I believe that's not the reason he moved away from Las Vegas," Brass softly smiled, masking his gentle chide. Sally shouldn't justify her reasoning to, of all people, him. He knew. Probably more than her.

There was a real challenge in Sally's eyes, and Brass knew he had hit a sore spot. 

"Don't taunt his disability, Sally," Brass sighed.

"You have no idea," Sally gritted her teeth. The cold anger was sharp and palpable. "I'm being polite, Jim. Otherwise I'll taunt every single scar, misery, nightmare, and madness he had gone through in Las Vegas."

Brass could only stare, more apologetic than before. 

Sally took a deep breath. Brass saw how she fought the anger, and couldn't help admiring her. Sally was right for Gil, he admitted. It was a match made out of necessity, not out of love, but it was good for him. 

"I can't lose him, Jim," Sally said.

"You won't."

Sally watched him for a long while, before ended up smiling sadly. She kept her silence and presence until Gil joined them.

He looked thin, Brass thought. The top two buttons of his shirt was opened, and Brass could see the huge, ugly, red scar crossing his chest upward to the side of his neck and ended in the middle of his now disappearing right ear. It was still as horrible as two years   
ago, yet much more tamer looking. It wasn't the healing, Brass noticed with relief. The scar didn't look as intimidating nor terrible anymore because Gil didn't seem to look any different. 

"Time looks gentle on you," Brass said slowly. Reading his lips, Gil smiled. 

Yes, Brass thought. That's the smile of a Gil he knew. A smile of a very grounded, rational, intelligent man, who had so nearly died in a horrific way, fought his inner demon and won. If there was someone capable to handle such a traumatic event that had happened two years ago, it was Gil. The man had suffered tremendously and bore it alone, yet incredibly, he recovered while his team members were still falling apart. 

"Catherine says hi," Brass smiled. He could see Gil had no problem at all in following his conversation, as long as he didn't speak too fast. He could skip the rehearsed sign language he had painfully tried to remember, and he didn't seem to need Sally hovering nearby helping to translate. He needed Gil alone.

"How's she?" Gil's voice was soft yet seemingly odd and disembodied. A kind of tone that came from someone who no longer could hear his own voice.

"She hangs on," Brass nodded. "She's a very tough cookie. Fills your position beautifully."

"I'm sure. Sara?"

Brass lost a fraction of his smile. "She's following Greg's footsteps now. Working for that independent research lab down in Virginia. Pharmaceutical, if I'm not mistaken." 

Gil caught the stiff mask. "She's a mess, I believe."

"As far as I know, she gets help. I'm pretty familiar with her therapist. I don't know how she's doing though."

"Ah. Not so good for Greg, I take it."

"He's young, Gil. But Catherine kept an eye on him. I'm sure that sooner or later, the boy will get back on his feet. She's trying to get him back to Las Vegas."

"Drugs and alcohol?"

Brass laughed. "You don't miss much, do you?"

"Actually, I do," Gil signed unconsciously. He always did that when he wanted to emphasize something, yet weren't sure if it was effective to his listener. "Warrick?"

"He didn't get back to his dark side, if you're worried about that. But he went to New York and took a graduate program. He's not one that keep in touch regularly."

Gil nodded. Then, with his eyes much more subdued and fingers unconsciously signed again, he said slowly. "Nick?" 

Brass knew everything about Gil and Nick. The strange, elusive bond they shared, the obvious adoration coming from the younger man and the genuine affection from the older man. He was the only one beside Catherine who realized there was an underlying sexual tension between them, yet kept his silence since it was obvious that Nick wasn't aware of that, and Gil, who was of course sharper than Nick, had no interest to pursue it.

Then the tragedy happened and changed everything. 

"I have to admit, Gil. Nick surprises us all."

Gil cocked his head to one side. "How so?"

"He did need help for sometime. But he didn't try to escape. He got really focus, I'm sure you heard about it, and won approval from Quantico. He was now in Washington DC."

"A fed?" Gil laughed. "You're right. He surprises me."

"He misses you the most," Brass didn't bother to be subtle. "He's hurt when he heard you got married without telling anyone. He would love to attend the wedding, you know."

Gil only smiled. "If he wants to see me, then he will see me. If he doesn't want to, not even a pleading invitation will get him moving. I'm sure you realize he stopped contacting me since more than a year ago."

Since both men believed they should move on without one another, Brass thought. He didn't know much about Gil, but he knew it was a real denial in Nick's part. He might look better than everybody else, but he and Catherine believed, it was Nick who suffered the most. He couldn't even get past the denial stage. After all, Nick was the closest to Gil. More so than anyone else, including him.

"In fact, Gil, it's supposed to be Nick who sits here, talking to you."

"I notice, now I know where he works now. I do wonder whether you have joined FBI when you e-mailed me."

"He asks me. It's really a request I couldn't object. I want to see you."

There was a sad, but gentle understanding in Gil's dark eyes. "Nick still can't see me, huh?"

"Dreading it every minute. The kid is terrified. Jimmy Price, you know him, he's Nick's boss now, told me that he went ballistic when the Fed suggested you to be involved in this case. He disappeared for one, whole day before finally came to convince anyone that I am the right person to see you."

"And I'm glad to see you, Jim."

"I can't imagine how he can fare working with you again, honestly."

"Nick's tough. He can handle it."

Brass saw that Gil meant it. 

"If I agree," Gil added as an afterthought. "You have to know that I will be useless, Jim."

"I doubt it. You're better than those Feds forensics. Everyone knows it."

"It's not about my skill. It's my mind. I'm just not thinking about anything like that anymore."

"What do you mean?"

"It wasn't there, anymore," Gil said. "And it's not just about emotional scar, trauma, or disruptive healing process, because I'm fine now."

"What wasn't there anymore, Gil?"

"Why are you here, Jim? You're not the FBI, you're not even *in* the case. Yet you're here, and even though you haven't gone to the part of trying hard convincing me to help, I saw those determination in you already."

Brass leaned his body forward. He knew he had to talk slowly, but he suddenly felt like losing control.

"I saw those bodies."

Gil raised his eyebrows. 

"Nick showed me. He had to, otherwise I won't be here and doing this. Grissom, I have never seen anything like that. Even I know that whoever did it will continue unless somebody stopped him."

"Bad?"

Despite himself, Brass couldn't help chuckling. "That's an understatement."

"Who did the profiling?"

"William Blake."

"William Blake of the Strangler Case?"

"That's the man. Once I pass your inspection, he's the man who will see you next."

"Did he tell you that this is a product of a serial killer?"

Brass took himself a time to answer. He sensed that there's a trap underneath that question.

"There's another similar case already. I can smell it. Blake doesn't have to tell me to realize that."

Gil smiled, "And that's what I mean, Jim. Unlike you, I've lost it. The sense, the instinct, the pattern... It's like my system has crashed and rebooted to a clean slate."

"Grissom... Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

"I'm sorry."

Brass sighed. He opened his bag and took out a very thick folder from it. He gently put it on the table, close to Gil.

"Blake asked me to give you this if you refuse. It's not a bribe or whatever. I'm also not the one convinced you should help the FBI. He just requested you to take a look and tell them what you think of it. That's that. No strings attached. There's Blake's phone number   
and e-mail address inside. And Nick's, if you want to know."

Gil stared at it for a long while. "Do you realize what would happen if I opened this folder?"

Brass didn't answer.

"I'm glad you came over, Jim."

"Gil...," Brass sighed. "After seeing you like this.... I honestly believe this is not such a good idea."

"But you secretly want me to help."

"I'll let Blake know that you're still not ready."

"It's not about ready or not, Jim. Tell them that I *can't*. Not anymore."

"Nick will be relieve."

"I'm sure he will," Gil said sadly.

Loud barks were heard, and both men turned their heads toward the beautiful backyard, the one with hillside and great lake view. There was Sally and her dogs, running happily toward a young man, about eighteen, who just came through via the back fence.

"That's Todd, Sally's son," Gil raised from his seat and walked toward the glass door. "Stay for dinner, and tell me everything about how you've been doing, okay?"

Brass watched his old friend greeted his stepson and studied Sally's glowing face. They were happy together. 

He shouldn't be here.

******

It was a beautiful sunset, Gil thought. Funny how he never noticed it before. He lived in one of the most beautiful country house in one of the most beautiful place in America, but he never noticed it. Not until now, when he suddenly realized that nothing was ever permanent, that this peaceful life he had led might be erased and never came back again.

"Jim had seen me twice before he came here," Sally signed. Her eyes were downward, avoiding Gil's knowing stare. "He was accompanied by this FBI agent, William Blake."

"What did the FBI man ask you?"

"How you've been doing lately."

"What did you say?"

"I told them that you will be alright and happy if he doesn't bother you. I told Jim the same thing."

"Jim passed your inspection," Gil said it out.

"He told me that he misses you," Sally signed but her mouth pouted a little. "I have no reason to stop him since I know that you miss him too. What did he want, Gil?"

"Looking at some evidence."

Sally's face turned dark. "You don't say no?"

"I haven't even touched them, not to mention *see* them."

Sally got up, took a time to get two glasses of pineapple juice, and returned. She didn't take the previous seat beside Gil. She chose the one in front of Gil. Separated by a wide coffee table.

"Gil," she signed. "I know that you are happy now. If you want to go back to your old life, you would have told me before. Am I right?"

"Yes."

Gil avoided looking at Sally, effectively stopping their conversation. The empty spot beside him felt cold.

******

It was very early in the morning, when Gil finally wrote the long overdue e-mail.

"Nick," it said. "Are you alright? Do you need me now? Let me know. Gil."

In the afternoon, Sally stopped him from doing his reading. "We need to talk."

"I haven't touched those files, Sally," Gil smiled gently. How he loved his wife. She had that calming effect on him. After all, she was the most influential factor of his recovery. Months of being his nurse had put her as Gil's life saver and a rock to lean on. He never had that kind of companion before, and he dreaded the fact that now he had it, he had taken her for granted.

"But you keep it on your desk, not inside the drawer. It's alright Gil. I think you want it, and I can't and won't stop you."

"Sally."

"I think I know what it is, Gil. I can put two and two together. Todd thinks that if an FBI requesting your help, it must be a horrible murderer that you're about to face."

"Jim thinks it's a serial killer."

"The one we saw on TV? God, Gil."

"Even if I studied the evidence, I might not be able to help them. My mind isn't just the same anymore."

"I'm scared, Gil. Really. But I think you just told me this, and refuse to open the file, because you need my permission. Whether you can still think or do like it used to be is not an issue, because you can always re-learn again."

Gil stared at his wife, not knowing what to react.

"I think," Sally stopped. There was a suspicious gleaming on her eyes, and Gil quickly grabbed her hands, trying to assure her. But she let his hands go, and determined to finish her thought. "I think that if this murderer kills again, and the file is still sitting there, unopened, this happy life you, me and Todd have will no longer exist for you. Am I right, Gil?"

She continued when Gil didn't reply. "I know, Gil. I can hear you think. I think you have made a decision already."

"I'll only read the files and give them my input. If I can."

"Oh Gil," Sally chuckled. "We both know that it's a bullshit. They want you in deeply, and you will be once you've opened the file. You can't do it anymore? Gil. You'll die trying to make it work."

"What do you think, Sally?"

"I think I'm going to cry, Gil. Cry hard. Then I'll got up, dried my eyes, and let you go. If things turned bad, at least I know you did the right thing. It's not I'm not used to be on my own."

"I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry too, Gil. You know I love you."

Gil couldn't even reply back. He was suddenly awashed in a terrifying shock of sadness and exhilaration at the same time. He reached toward his wife, not knowing how to express his gratefulness, also fear for their future life. But he knew he never loved her more than this day.

Later that night, the reply mail he had been waiting for popped up in his INBOX.

"Gil, I wish you don't offer. The only thing I want is you to be happy. If it is possible, stay there and don't ever see me again. There's so much darkness here I don't want you to experience it again. Please. Nick."

Gil smiled. It was typical Nick. A rebuke, love declaration, yet a cry of help. But then again, like his wife had correctly guessed, it was her permission he really needed, not Nick's.

After all, it's not like he would help much.

 

end part 1


	2. Chapter 2

It was William Blake himself who greeted him at the Atlanta airport. 

He was a small man, thin, pale, with a very melancholy face. He looked ageless, but Gil's knowing eyes came up with the age of thirty eight to forty one. The man had quite a reputation in FBI. One of the best profiler, yet also the most battle-scarred. Gil had no doubt that part of the reason the man picked him was out of empathy. He heard that like him, one of the most vicious killer had fatally wounded and almost killed him. He also heard that Blake also retreated into a several years of absence, reportedly suffering heavy   
depression. He wondered what made him back to the force. He should ask.

"You know," Gil said and signed. "You are the last person on earth I expected to need my help."

Blake smiled and leaned forward. "Sorry I can't do the sign language. But Brass ensured me that it shouldn't be a problem as long as I behave."

"I agree," Gil smiled. "But you should have one soon, otherwise both of our lives will be difficult."

Blake led him toward his car, limping. Gil watched the slight crooked back, an occasional tremor of the left elbow, and the stiff right leg that must have been badly crooked before. He frowned.

"I'll ask Stokes to assist me. I heard he's pretty good in sign language," Blake said once they've secured inside the car.

"Nick?" Gil was surprised. "I didn't know he can do it."

Blake gave him a knowing look. "Obviously he learnt to prepare for you."

Gil sighed, "I suppose there's always an underlying hope that I'll get back to my old job eventually." That was true. Gil knew that Catherine and Nick had waited for his return until FBI stole Nick away. He was pretty sure that Catherine could also do sign language   
now. After all, his impending deafness was not a secret. The fact that it came much more faster, fatal, and in such a horrific way was the thing nobody expected.

Blake gave him a frank stare toward his missing ear. "Now I know why Stokes went so pale when he knew you'll be on his side for sometime. Those scar was not pretty."

"None of my old team can handle it," Gil nodded. "It's a representation of what they believed to be a failure, though it's really just the struck of the luck."

"What happened exactly?"

"We got sniffed on the murderer, but there's still not enough evidence. We're working around the clock to beat the trial, and at the last moment, I got it. The suspect was free on bail, though, so he was free to stop me."

"So similar with my story. He kept you?"

"Just for a day," Gil surprisingly felt himself shivering. "He thought he had killed me for good. But when the police found me two days later, I'm still breathing."

"Wow. And the ear?"

"Souvenir. He sent it to the office, meaning to give a symbolic message that he had finished me. He knew I was half deaf and destroyed whatever left of my hearings, so he chose the proper body part. A trophy for bragging. My team used it to track down my body. All of them already believed that I'm dead."

"No wonder they were all reportedly so shaken up. Giving them your ear? It doesn't leave any imagination that you're being badly tortured to death."

Gil was quiet.

"Hey man, I didn't mean to drag bad memories back," Blake patted Gil's hand.

"No, I know you don't mean to," Gil smiled. "After all, you're also one with the history. I heard about what happened when you captured Bobby Fair."

"The Strangler," Blake raised his eyebrows. "My most prized catch. Yup. I'm sure you know everything about what he has done to me."

"Well. Here's to 'play-dead' survivors."

"Survivors indeed," Blake laughed. Gil thought there was something strange flashing on the man's eyes.

"Where are we going now?"

"To see the bodies. We've done post-mortem repeatedly, but couldn't come up with anything. There's a real need for someone to actually bridging my communication with the local coroners. I'm not exactly easy to understand, you know."

Gil studied Blake, and gave him a smile. He decided that he liked the man, though he realized that there was something he should set him straight later on.

It was a rather unceremonious situation, once they entered Atlanta PD headquarter. Gil had the distinctive feeling that neither Blake nor him were actually welcomed. 

Blake turned to him.

"Before you converse with Sal Cimino, head of the local forensic, I'm going to check on the headquarter. Want me to leave some messages to Nick Stokes?"

Gil hesitated, "Won't he be here soon?"

"I doubt it," Blake shrugged. "He was busy helping Jimmy Price with the Connecticut and Maine bodies. We will join him as soon as we finished examining this one."

"Well, then. Just tell him I say hello."

Gil wondered if he should ask Blake to also call Sally and tell her his whereabouts. But the thought quickly disappeared when a young woman, signing him for introduction, claiming that she would be his translator. She half dragged him to the coronary, expecting him to meet Sal Cimino. Gil thought that maybe he could just e-mail Sally once he got to his hotel.

******

"There's possibilities of teeth marks," Sal Cimino explained. "But no prints, hairs, nothing. This guy is tidy."

"The publicity was crazy," Gil signed. "How many had confessed?" The girl beside him translated to Cimino.

"Ninety five," Cimino shook his head in despair. "None of them even remotely fit the profiler description. I don't get this kind of fame obsessions you know."

"This type of killer don't need fame. Better to ignore the incoming calls."

Gil softly touched the bruises on the victim's hand. He looked to the girl, feeling her gentle touch, a signal that Cimino had said something to him.

"Those bruises didn't leave anything. He used a poreless glove. Like a surgeon."

"Or coroners." Gil saw that Cimino wasn't amused. "The bite marks?"

"Here's the thing." Cimino moved and uncovered the victim's head. The woman translator flinched and moved away, face visibly paled. Gil sighed. He obviously needed a strong-hearted translator.

"Would you be kind enough to face me when you speak?"

Cimino, a clearly short-tempered middle-age man who had no respect to anyone younger than him, shot a deadly glare toward the cowered translator.

"Why don't you try those hearing aids?"

Gil gave him his usual blank but level stare. "The thing called 'aid' is to help or enhance something. We don't need them when there's nothing left there to be enhanced."

Cimino shrugged, seemingly unconvinced. Gil almost smiled. No wonder those FBIs needed him.

"All we know is he's got sharp and strong teeth. Look. If I didn't know better, I'll say she's being mauled by a lion."

"The Biter. Hmm..." Gil softly poked on the hole that used to be where the nose was. "There's still some pattern left here."

"Difficult," Cimino looked pissed. "Maybe that man swallowed what he had bitten, so forget about finding the missing meat. Trying to build a set of teeth based on 'that'? How did you manage that?"

"Jigsaw," Gil smiled. "She had twelve holes around her face alone. She's still alive when he bit her. This head moved around. Which is correct, judging from those savage tears. She's struggling. There will be combinations of biting pattern. If you try print them one by one, at least you'll get something from his upper teeth and lower teeth."

"She's already bloated. You know that bloated flesh obscured whatever marks they had."

"Well, shrink it."

Cimino looked at him savagely. "How?"

Gil gave him a smile and felt someone tapped his shoulder. Blake had joined them. "Stokes says 'hi'. What do you get?"

"Teeth marks. As long as this person doesn't wear fake teeth, we can try from that."

"I asked the police to examine the fridge content. There should be some teeth marks there."

"You think he snacked around?"

Blake looked at him. "With an oral fixation like that? Don't you think so?"

One hour later, Gil found himself sitting in front of the interesting FBI agent on a deserted cafeteria.

"I have to ask you something," Gil said.

"Shoot."

"Are you dying?"

Blake clearly didn't expect it. He sat up straight, staring sharply on Gil. It took a while for him to relax and gave Gil a broad smile. A tired smile.

"What gives away?"

"Your eyes, those skin tone, your fingernails. There's so many chemical deposited in your body. Some of them heavy metals too. What are you taking?"

"Something. It's really a question I really don't want to be asked. I'm not faithful with medical doctors."

"And you did what? Alternative medication? Experimenting on yourself?"

"Doesn't matter, Grissom. The bottom line is, I have no energy left to see this case solved."

"That bad?"

"Yes."

"Why me, then?"

"Because you are the perfect man. If I can't go on, there's no other person can continue my job."

Gil looked at him. 

Blake continued, "I know your reputation before. Then I learn about what had happened to you. I get my conclusion."

"You chose me out of your profiling?"

"Yes," Blake laughed. "And I trust my judgment. More than anything."

Gil's stare turned thoughtful.

"Tell me, Grissom. You told Jim Brass that you've lost it. I quote 'system is crashed and rebooted from a clean slate'."

"I told you before."

"Is it because you're thinking differently now?"

Gil put both his arms on the table. He leaned forward. "A change in my perspective, do you think?"

"Yes. The kind that most people who almost died, or already died but came back, have."

A tug of smile appeared at the corners of Gil's mouth. He decided that he really liked this man. "The kind that you have?"

"Yes."

"Well. Maybe."

"Tell me how different."

"You're the profiler, Bill."

"Humor me, Grissom."

"Do you realize how interesting to see the mind works? Imagine how some people think when they are given a simple mathematical question. Some had a three-dimensional 'volume' perspective, some just had some numbers popped out from nowhere, some imagining steps of calculation method and worked from that. Me, I used to see patterns. Anything random always have a pattern. I'm probably the only one capable to instantly see it during my time in Las Vegas."

"Ah. The mind of the chaos. I like that."

"But after the incident, and the long bout of medication that altered my mind, I've lost it."

"Not much, judging from your discussion with Cimino."

"Actually, that much. You won't see it until later. It's just I'm very good at I did before, so it's my experience talking. Beside, Cimino is clearly a lazy bum. He'll get something if he's a bit more diligent." 

"Correct me. Does those pattern change into something else?"

"Like what?"

"Like when you see the girl's face just now. Or when you read the profiles. I saw how you think so deeply. Like in a trance."

Gil didn't answer for sometime.

"Gil," Blake's eyes turned gentle. "Do you now see the way 'he' sees?"

And now it was clear. Why did he know that the girl was still alive when he bit her? Because of the wound type? No. Because he just *knew*. He knew that this biter liked it when she still alive. Thrived in it. And why did he agree with Blake that he probably   
rummaging the victim's refrigerator and snacked around? Because he somehow knew that the man would need something to take out the bad taste in his mouth. He knew he'd do it, if...

"My God," Gil whispered.

"Those darkness that had happened two years ago, Gil. Believe me. I knew. I've experienced it. It's *intense* isn't it? That *connection* you suddenly had with your tormentor?"

It wasn't possible, but it happened. Gil felt his face turned cold.

"Tell me. What did you feel when you heard that he's dead?"

What did he feel? What did he feel to the bright, sun-like face of a very sick young man, who watched him with insane eyes, who talked to his damaged ears gently, who cried when killing him? 

"I felt like I'm dead too," Gil said and signed, then sighed loudly.

"That's why I chose you, Gil Grissom. I knew. Profilers weren't just born out of the Academy. Or universities. Some of them are natural and gifted. Mostly because they finally break the barrier of their own minds. Performing a connection to something other than themselves. It's almost impossible, because human will always think the way they think, not someone else's. They are almost like artists, or musicians. People who had an extra sensing to get what others don't get. People who unconsciously can think the way other people think, or sense others' deepest need."

Blake stopped. He took out his handkerchief and wiped the prickling sweats performing on his forehead. 

Cold, Gil thought. Then he suddenly knew that the man in front of him was in pain. A real, deep pain.

Blake smiled, "I know what you think, Grissom. But I can handle it, don't worry."

"What do you want me to be? A partner? A replacement? I'm not sure I'm willing to go that far."

"I know that you want to run back to your family, Gil. That's what made you scared, isn't it? Leaving them all behind? Don't you think I've already tasted it? The perfect life much more different than you've already had? Peaceful, heaven-like?" 

"Why did you leave it all?"

"Because just like you, Gil, those darkness didn't leave you behind. It follows you. And you'll see that you can never run. They'll find you. No matter where you are. It is you who should stop running."

Gil closed his eyes. Feeling that emptiness returned with a vengeance.

"It kills you, isn't it?" he signed.

Blake understood. "It depends," he said. "If I'm not such a loner, maybe it doesn't."

Gil looked at him again.

"There's a tormented young man that shared your deepest fear, Grissom. I saw it in my office. In fact, the minute I saw him, I just knew I can safely choose and rely on you to help me. I've never had someone like that before, that's why I don't survive. But I can see you might not end up like me. You have someone that maybe understand."

Gil took a deep breath and swallowed. "Nick Stokes."

That night, it took a long time for Gil to sleep. When he finally did, he still didn't e-mail Sally.

He just didn't feel right.

end part 2


	3. Chapter 3

It was 9 am the next morning when Blake showed up on the hotel lobby with none other than Nick Stokes.

"Nick," Gil stood, grinning widely. He wished he could hear his own voice, but he already knew that it would sound excited. Which he was.

Apparently, the feeling wasn't mutual. Not only Nick was still frozen about ten meters away from where he stood, he didn't even try to look at Gil.

Blake curiously watched Nick, and turned to Gil, raising his eyebrows.

Gil gave him a sad shrug.

Blake shook his head and turned to Nick. "Stokes, dammit. Come here. I need your help to talk with Grissom. It is you who insist coming in the first place."

"Let me," Gil said to Blake and walked toward Nick.

He stopped at the fringe of Nick's personal space, eyes studying one of his best staff and closest friend sadly. He noticed the stiff stand, the slight trembling of Nick's fingers, the head that firmly bowed with eyes obviously locked downcast. Gil could see his jaw clenched so hard it looked hurt. And he was pale. Very pale.

"Nick," he said gently. "I am fine."

"Oh Jesus," Nick suddenly snapped his head up. His eyes were firmly shut. And before he knew, Gil was enclosed in the tightest embrace he had ever had. 

It was over so quickly, but Gil still kept his arm around Nick's shoulder, feeling strangely reluctant to let him go despite the fact that Nick was already retreated, visibly shaken and seemingly couldn't wait to escape.

He still couldn't look at Gil.

"How are you, Nick?"

Nick, eyes trained elsewhere, signed. "You shouldn't be here."

Gil almost smiled. "Come and talk with Blake. He's waiting."

He knew that he couldn't force Nick to face him even though he felt a little hurt, therefore Gil turned around and walked back to where Blake stood. He felt Nick slowly walked behind him. 

Blake led them toward the parking lot. Nick fastened his pace and got himself beside Gil, eyes trained on Blake and fingers ready to translate anything came out from Blake's mouth. 

"I'm sorry I couldn't give you both proper time to reunite and... adjust," Blake said. Nick signed smoothly, and Gil couldn't help feeling touched. He had trained well. "Because Nick had found something, we just thought it's a good idea for him to come down here. We need to go to the crime scene right away. I'll explain later."

Blake took the wheel with Nick beside him. Gil could safely stare and study both men. Especially Nick. He didn't wait long. "Nick," he patted his friend's shoulder gently. "Would it be too much to ask for dinner tonight?"

Nick took his breath sharply. It took a very long second for him to finally admit defeat. He turned slowly to face Gil. For the first time in two years.

And how shattering it was. Gil could see the fine lines around his sunken eyes and between his eyebrows. He could see the huge, dark eyes, full of fear and unknown terror. Those eyes were now impossibly black. As black as a bottomless pit. He'd never seen Nick like this. He had turned into a stranger.

A moment later, that face scrunched up, looking too near to tears. "Okay, Gil," he signed, unable to speak.

It was his limit, Gil thought. He shouldn't push more and let Nick turned his head back to safety. He caught reflection of Blake's sympathetic eyes, and gave him a crooked smile.

*****

There was something when one couldn't hear anymore. The victim, Anna Rosen, lived in a studio apartment not far from campus. It was supposed to be a noisy building, with busy tenants, all of them students, come and go the whole time. Especially this time of day. But Gil stood blissfully ignorant, absorbing the atmosphere. His mind took notes on everything he saw and felt without distraction.

Once they got to the third floor, he felt tremors from the floor.

"There's a music war going on here," Nick signed. He looked more relax. Being in the crime scene turned his professional mode. Apparently it made him forget a little about his intense confusion of being around Gil again.

Gil could feel the rhythmical thump-thump under his shoes and realized that rackets which could make the floor shook like this would made any murderers come and do their thing freely. No one would pay any attention.

The tremors were considerably lower once they turned into the wing where Anna Rosen's apartment located. The yellow lines spread along the corridor, barring several other apartment doors. The fact that no DNA sources available had made the Atlanta police desperate. It seemed like they would dust the whole floor if necessary. 

Anna Rosen's room was surprisingly little-girl like. She took a time to re-paint her furniture with pinkish white tone, put on tablecloths, furry throws, and quilted blankets, all in pink-blue-yellow combination on several corners. Stuffed animals adorned her bed, and a small glass shelf contained a good number of old Barbie dolls.

Nick walked directly toward her wardrobe closet, a small pocket note in his right hand.

Gil took a time to look at the huge bloody marks around the room. The victim was found on the bed, which was still covered by those cutesy quilt blanket and stuffed animals. The blood pattern was round and concentrated. That was the place she bled to death. There was hideous pattern along the carpet between the bedroom and the living room, a sign that she was being dragged by the murderer, possibly when she could no longer struggle or move. The living room's couch, the most probable crime scene, was gone, forensics took it.

A light touch turned him. Blake motioned him to follow. They ended up in the kitchen.

Blake raised a small bowl. Gil took it and sniffed. "Cat," he said. "Where is it now?" 

"Gone," Blake said slowly. "The next door neighbor said it's been gone a week before her death."

"Do you think he get it?"

"Psychopath did have the tendency to torture animals. I suppose he took it first as a sign."

"A ritual," Gil nodded. "Did the other victims have pets?"

"Two dogs and a bird. All missing." Blake turned toward Gil and stared at him with knowing eyes. "Look around and tell me, Grissom. Tell me what you really *feel*. I'll go and find Stokes."

Look around? Gil stood silently for sometime. A sense of disorientation came over him, and for a moment his mind went directly to Sally. He still hadn't contacted her. Why?

And then he put the cat's bowl back and stared at the sink. A cheap stainless one. Unfamiliar. Anna Rosen's apartment.

For the first time since his arrival in Atlanta, he finally came to his sense of where he was now. Back to crime scenes. What was he doing here? 

A sharp cold started forming in his stomach.

His back prickled, a sign that someone had been watching him secretly. Gil took a time to slowly turned around, as if unaware of his watcher. He only managed to get Nick's turning back, a bit hurriedly moving to another part of the room.

Gil wandered a bit around the kitchen. Thinking. Seeing.

Facts. That's his religion, isn't it? Seeing what he could see. Stick to it. Build something from it. 

But instead of going to where the blood prints were, Gil started opening the kitchen's cupboard. About six small tumblers, six sets of tea cups and saucers, three mugs and one especially large mug. Then he opened the refrigerator. A half empty milk bottle, chewy   
chocolate chip cookies, half of peanut butter sandwich, nine eggs paraded in the inner row, unopened apple juice. The vegetable and fruit bin was empty. The content was now in Sal Cimino's lab, Blake's decision. Gil smiled approvingly. What would he do when his   
mouth tasted bad? Take a bite of apple. He wondered if they come up with some teeth prints yet.

He closed the fridge door and stared at the multiple magnets adorned it. Flowers. Animals. Some fancy graphic stuff, lame designs though. Photographs. The victim by herself, long hair sported in a ponytail. Another one surrounded by four other girls. All of them were pudgy girls. Then another one presumably with her parents.

Mama's girl, Gil thought sadly. "Anna just couldn't cope living by herself, don't you think?" he murmured. He turned and stared outside the window. "You watched her," Gil whispered again. "Thinking that she looked so much like a..."

Gil stopped his thinking and quickly walked back to the living room area. Nick was standing there, alternately studying his notes and a set of photographs on the table. 

"Blake?" 

Nick gave him a quick look, a flash of still frightened look, but much more composed mask. "In there."

Gil saw the FBI agent's silhouette on the shower's sink. He was drinking something. Medicine, according to Gil's guess.

"He looks bad," he said. 

Nick tried to smile. "He's supposed to go back and rest. But try to stop the man. He would prefer die standing..."

Nick choked, just realizing that the word 'die' had just come out from his mouth. Gil gently touched his arm. Nick finally gave his familiar shy smile.

"I have a lot of issue, don't I?" he signed. "I'm sorry, Griss."

"Don't bother," Gil returned his smile. It felt good. "What did you find?"

"Something that wasn't there," Nick shook his head. "I don't know. It's just... These pictures. I know that all of these victims had a little obsessions of photographs. I just can't help thinking that our guy should have been somewhere around here."

"Why do you think so?"

Nick looked up thoughtfully. "I found one with his saliva down in DC."

"And you think he was somehow sitting here, drooling over the picture?" Gil raised his eyebrows. "Which victim?"

"Number two. Diane Highland. Found in Medford, Massachussetts."

What would he see? Gil thought. "Red Ridinghood," Gil said suddenly.

"Excuse me?"

"They were as meek as a lamb," Gil said again, very thoughtful now. Nick was now really staring at him, but then suddenly signed, "It was a real act of hunting preys." Blake was talking to them while he came out from the bathroom. 

Gil turned toward him, looking like he had something ridiculous landed in his hands. "A wolf. He thinks he's a wolf."

Blake gave him a brief laugh.

****

"They were all the same. Extremely protected girls, refused to grow up, easy to get dependent on someone. Probably a bit attention grabber. No real boyfriends yet, but somehow boy crazy."

"Our guy must have been really attractive," Nick said.

"Not always," Blake said. "It wasn't about attractiveness in these victims' eyes. It's the idea of 'maleness' that lured them in."

"Never had a prominent male figure beside the father all her life. At this particular stage, any man, a stranger no less, who showed some sexual interest will be quite appealing." Gil agreed.

"Our guy has no record," Nick sighed. "There's saliva, a little blood sample in another victim, hopefully some teeth pattern later on, but so what?"

"He didn't drive," Gil said, feeling strangely sure about it. Blake turned toward him thoughtfully, and said, "There should be at least some prints. There should be a time where he had to open his shoes. Despite the blood, no good shoe prints appeared."

"He wore his shoes again outside the apartment," Gil said.

"Somebody should have seen him." 

"Would a round the clock interview with all those tenants a good start?" Nick offered. Their car entered the hotel where Blake stayed. Blake coughed a little. "Let's try that. Keep those PDs busy. Compared to the rest of the victims, this one had more potential witness. There should be somebody noticing something."

The car halted to a stop. Blake turned and gave Nick the wheel. "I had to go back to DC tomorrow morning," he told Grissom.

Gil nodded, "You should take care." He could see all those huge drop of sweats coming out from Blake's forehead. He really shouldn't be walking around like this, he thought.

Gil finally sit beside Nick, who turned subdued again once Blake left them.

"Where do you want to go?" Nick asked slowly. A flash of pink appeared on his ears.

"I don't know any restaurant in this town," Gil said. "Let's just hang out on my hotel's cafe. It's pretty private."

They drove in silence, but pleasantly relax. Sometime later, they found themselves sitting across each other in a secluded nook at the corner of the almost deserted cafe.

Nick glanced at him under his long eyelashes. It brought good memories to Gil. He's always somehow aware that the man in front of him had something attractive. Like Catherine had, or Sara had, Warrick had, or even Sanders had. If he was honest to himself, he was always attracted to some beauty quality in all of his previous team members in Las Vegas. But in the man department, he had the opinion that Nick had something much more compared to Warrick and Greg Sanders. He liked watching Nick better. Not to mention that personality-wise, Nick fit his chemistry better than anyone,   
including the girls.

"Don't start saying I'm sorry," Gil signed gently. "I need to get over those apology phase."

Nick grinned shyly. Then he turned serious. His eyes stared at his fingers, clenching and unclenching nervously. "I heard you got married."

"Ah," Gil nodded. "It eventually happened you know."

Nick's head bobbed up and down. But he swallowed repeatedly.

"I suppose we need each other, Sally and I," Gil said softly. "You know, all of us seemed to be coming to that stage. I know Sara and Warrick were both seeing somebody pretty seriously now." 

"Yes," Nick said. "So am I."

Well, then. "We aren't exactly present for each other," Gil said, somehow feeling apologetic. 

"Yeah. Otherwise we'll stuck for each other for good," Nick laughed. Then he finally looked at Gil. Gil took a deep breath. It was there again. That sad, soft stare that conveyed thousands of mixed emotions. He noticed this particular stare before they fell apart, and at that time it was best to ignore it.

There's a suspicious glisten on Nick's eyes when it fell on his right side face.

"You can touch it if you want," Gil offered gently. "It might chase the ghost away."

"I can't, Griss," Nick signed. He looked even more sadder. "You know I can't."

"I don't expect it. But I'm not dead." Gil finally admitted his hurt. He understood. Oh, he did. It was better for all of them to stay apart. It was too hurtful to get close again. They had been awakened that they were all running on a borrowed time, and sometimes it was easy to start over by erasing the bad memories. Gil was bad memories for them all. But hell, he was not *dead*.

"I know you're not. I know." Nick frantically signed. "In fact, I had been waiting. But..."

"You know that those waits you and Catherine had weren't long enough. In fact, it's over by the time both of you came to the realization of what had really happened."

"We..."

"Nick, I'm not upset. If there was one thing I felt a bit upset now was the fact you seemed ready to bolt whenever I was nearby."

Again, that face started crunching up again in despair. But it only took a second, before Nick set his face straight reluctantly. It was still too hard on him, but he was a brave boy.

"Sorry," Nick said, then grinned when Gil gave him the look. "Okay, okay, no more apologies."

"Would you like to tell me about how you've been doing?"

Nick's smile disappeared again. He swallowed then tried to chuckle. "I don't think so. Not now."

Gil nodded. "Then what should I tell you about myself?"

Nick hesitated, before he finally spoke. It looked like it took his whole energy. "Your wife, maybe."

There was a 'maybe' in his request. So, Gil sighed. It never went away between them. He had wondered. Now he had seen it, and felt it. *It* was still there. Too bad.

"She's my nurse. And she had an eighteen year old son. His name was Todd."

"Really? How did you two get along?"

"Fine. He looked like you."

They both went silent again for sometime. "What's she like?"

"Pretty. Calming. Understanding. What's she like?"

Nick took a deep breath. "I think she really loves me."

That fact really bothered you, didn't it? Gil thought. "Don't they all?"

The waiter came and brought their food. It was a good timing. They spent sometime enjoying their meal, when Nick finally spoke again. "Brass did a good job in convincing you, right?"

"You're supposed to be the one who did it."

"I know. I don't want to."

"Do you resent it now I'm here?"

There was a brief smile. "No."

Gil returned the smile. "I'm glad."

It was still far from over. In fact, there was not anything substantial they could even talk about, let alone the heart of the matter that lied between them. But Gil felt good. There will be time later. Nick wouldn't go away again. 

Later that night, he wrote for Sally his first greeting e-mail.

end part 3


	4. Chapter 4

Gil was woken up by his vibrating beeper, strapped on his waist. He almost jumped. Turning toward the alarm clock, he realized that it was only 6 am. 

Sally?

Gil lit the light and squinted toward his blinking pager. "Pick you up in half an hour. Emergency. Nick."

Half an hour was too long for him. When Nick arrived, Gil had already taken a shower. He looked as fresh as a person who had just taken a satisfying ten hours sleep. 

Watching Nick's distraught face, Gil knew what had happened right away. "Blake?"

"Yes," Nick said tiredly. "He suddenly fell into a coma last night. Come on."

He couldn't say it to Nick, but Gil knew this would come this fast. He had felt it the moment he saw Blake. A man so ready to hang his hat who waited long enough to pass his stick to the person behind him. No wonder he was so desperate. 

"I couldn't refuse his request to ask you in," Nick reminisced. "He's somehow disatisfied with all the other agents, even those we thought as brilliant as him. He was so tired and sad. Headquarter relented, and I finally did too." He looked at Gil apologetically. "I suppose you're stuck now. HQ requested the Atlanta office to let Special Agent Gary Wayne to take over. He was great, but FBI honestly thought you're the best deal they've ever had. We sort of knew who would be the real thing from now on."

Gil inhaled deeply. And what would he say to Sally now? 

****

He met Gary Wayne at the hospital. Gil admitted he was a little surprise. He thought Wayne was an older guy. A brief introduction led him to understand that the man was Bill Blake's somehow junior partner. Not that Blake ever had a 'real' partner. But Wayne was   
close. That translated as one with the most information from Blake beside the Assistant Director.

"I'm not sure he'll come around soon," Wayne said after Gil took a quick look at Blake's stillness. "There are more urgent matters. Public relations matter. We can't lose a minute any longer."

Gil exchanged glances with Nick. Unlike Blake, Wayne didn't meet Gil's eyes. That left the possibilities of being uncomfortable, like most people did when seeing his mutilated right side face or realizing that he was disabled, or wary, like a person who faced a competitor. 

"Reporters?" Gil asked.

Wayne raised his eyebrows. "Yes," he nodded a moment later. "Everyone got restless. It's been four days, and more than a dozen self-confessed wannabes turned themselves to the media. It panicked everyone. The Atlanta Police Commissioner is going to held a press conference at eight. It did not help that Blake suddenly... Well. After all, he was quite famous, and his inability might provoke more anxieties."

Nick bit his lip. "Will Griss' position be difficult?"

Wayne exhaled a long breath. "I must admit, yes. HQ has placed your name as the lead investigator now, and that would put so many people unhappy. Including the Commissioner himself. A lot of people will also have doubts about you."

Because he was deaf. Because he had a record of mental 'instability' as a result of a very traumatic event years back. Because he was *not* an FBI agent, and in fact just a crime scene scientist retiree instead of an attributed profiler. A pretty dormant retiree as well. Hell. Where was the surprise?

Gil snorted a little. "A lot of people won't care with how I feel. That includes the FBI. Exposing me as Blake's replacement will put a real damper in my family life. My wife expected me to be back home tomorrow. I sort of expected that too. I can embarrass everyone by saying publicly I refuse to take the job."

Nick widened his eyes. Startled.

Wayne thought it was funny. He laughed a little, but soon realized that Gil was serious. "You can't do that."

"Maybe I won't. But I *can*," Gil said. He had to contact Sally soon. Cell phone? Very bad idea. It would be Nick who'll do the talking. Sally would resent it, and Gil knew that Nick would too.

Gil saw Nick talk to Wayne and get a heated reply. But because Nick wasn't facing him, he couldn't guess what they were discussing about. He started walking out.

Reporters. He hated that kind of exposure. He was quite known in Las Vegas and probably the entire Nevada state about his adversion to talk, even *face*, a journalist. He glanced toward Wayne, who still engaged in heated argument with Nick, walking behind him. 

Should he just go back home and forget everything? Gil snorted. He knew himself better than that. And since when public relations matter important to him anyway? Press conference or not, he had to catch the guy. He just hoped Sally will forgive him.

***

For the first time in his life, Gil felt a little grateful he was deaf. The Police Commissioner, who was clearly a political man first than a policeman, was radiating unfriendliness toward him. Therefore Gil happily made his stiff attempt for conversation difficult. After all, some people just simply believed that talking to a deaf man ridiculous. What's the point of talking to someone who couldn't hear? This man was one of them. 

He left Agent Wayne charmed the man to Blake's temporary operation room. Nick followed him despite Wayne's disapproval glare. There was never any doubt of where he put his loyalty first.

Blake's place was a converted storage room. The desk looked tired and lonely among steel shelves and filing cabinets. A medium-size blackboard showed Blake's scribbles. A quick look told Gil that Blake thought unconventionally. His diagram reflected bursts of inspirations instead of a systematic thinking process. He must have frustrated a lot of people here, and maybe in his office down in DC.

There was a little box at the corner. Gil pursed his mouth. It read: "Male, caucasian, has history of being abused, most probably a loner, extremely shy. Check vets and animal hospitals for kidnaps or attacks on pets in campus area."

He turned toward Nick, whom he caught staring at him. After he got over the ugly missing ear, Nick seemed to be constantly staring at him. Nick smiled sheepishly, face blushing. "Yes?" 

"You haven't told me much about the other incidents. Maine, Connecticut, and Massachussetts?"

"He's another Ted Bundy. Operates in campus living areas. Freshmen mostly. We aren't sure the attacks were sexual."

"He's a wannabe turns real. Drifter, because he was very mobile. I agree that he bites too much for sexual assaults. Almost like angry."

Nick nodded. He tapped on Blake's writing at one corner. The one that said: "identity confusion". "This came from the prediction that he might feel anger toward the girls. All of his victims were...very feminine, if we could say that."

"Then he's probably more like Norman Bates than Ted Bundy."

Nick chuckled. He tapped on the line of 'check vets and animal hospital'. "This is new."

"It looks like he just realized that all the victims have missing pets."

"We aren't sure about that until recently."

Gil nodded. "The idea is that psychopaths usually don't come overnight. There's a long process of maturity. Most of them have history of being violent in their childhood. They may torture people now, but before, it's usually animals. Pets, to be exact. The one that was meek, unsuspicious, easy, and obviously weaker. This particular 'hobby' doesn't disappear once he tasted human flesh. He might use it as an exercise for the real thing. There's a big possibility that he already had another potential victim in the near future, so, we'd better check on missing pets, especially owned by female students."

"Ah," Nick said. His eyes had that gentle shine and wonder. "You get this from Blake in just twenty four hours?"

Gil didn't reply. His face had turned thoughtful. 

After sometime, he felt something brushed his side. Nick. He had moved and perched himself on his left. Very close. Their shoulders touched and Gil could feel the warmth seeping to his body. It was very pleasant. 

It's a start, Gil thought. He remembered the day before where Nick was being skittish around him. He had no illusion that it wasn't just an attempt to restore something. The touch was probably just a reassurance of reality. Probably it finally dawned on Nick that it was really Gil Grissom, alive and whole, returned from the grave. 

But it was *very* nice.

"I sort of expect you to be holed up in the lab, instead of trying to crack the Blake's code," Nick humourly said.

"He expects me otherwise," Gil signed while his mouth smiled. "Me too, as a matter of fact."

Nick turned his face slightly, and Gil absorbed the expanse of tanned but unblemished skin in front of him. There was concern on his eyes. "You can stop anytime, you know."

"No need to worry, Nick. It's just a change in perspective."

"I honestly prefer you to hole up inside the lab."

"Like what you really wish at the moment? It's okay Nick, you may bother Sal Cimino. Check on the teeth thing. There's something about that teeth. The damages it caused were beyond imagination."

Though his eyes were trained on the blackboard now, Nick's face was still turned toward Gil. He was clearly reluctant to leave Gil now. "Do you think I should do it?"

Gil read the need. There was never any illusions about Nick. Everything was written on his face. Regarding him, Nick had broken his personal gate, and now there's nothing to stop the flood. 

"I like you being around me," Gil said gently. He was being honest. "The purpose of you being here was to be my translator first and investigator later. Beside, you in suit is what my sore eyes need."

Nick laughed, while his blush returned in a vengeance. It must have sounded free, Gil thought regretfully. 

This was good. This was like they used to be. This felt like normal. 

Both men spent a good hour studying Blake's blackboard, files, and jotted notes. It was pretty ironic, but Gil knew the man had prepared things for him. Everything seemed to be there to cater his needs of information. There's no need to start from the beginning. Nick had done a very good job to fill him in.

Finally, Wayne appeared. He looked disturbed. "The Commissioner wants Grissom to appear on the press conference."

"No." Both Nick and Gil refused simultaneously.

Wayne's glare was trained on Nick. 

"What's the need? I have no statements to say." Gil said. 

Wayne raised his brows. "Doesn't Blake tell you anything?"

Gil almost laughed. Nick looked annoyed. "Gil isn't responsible for official statement. It's your job."

"You must come out, or the PD won't cooperate."

It was a reluctant compromise, but Gil wasn't among the ones standing on the podium when he finally agreed to appear. It was an intense conference, as many had expected. Fear had spread like fire, and it seemed every media, independent or corporate was present at the moment.

Sitting at the back of the hall, there was no way Gil could avoid them. 

"Gil Grissom," Matthew Bennard from FOX News breathed in excitement. Then, he gave Nick a questioning look. Nick returned it with a glare. A look that said 'what do you think?'

"No comment," Gil said. It startled Bennard a little, but the smirk appeared. He decided that deaf or not, Gil was still... well... Gil. "Well, then. Isn't this interesting."

Nick turned to Gil. "Want to leave?"

"Wait a minute," Bennard breathlessly put himself beside Gil. His commotion gave attention to reporters around him. "This I can't miss. Honestly, Grissom, you're back? You're in?"

Gil stood. The compromise was over. He had to get back to work.

But then, Bennard's obvious distraction from the 'real conference' had done something. Several flashes of lights from cameras around him blinded Gil. Journalists didn't forget. Many of them were aware of who he was now. And, boy, did they speculate.

"The Commissioner will answer your questions," Nick brushed them away. Automatically, he took Gil's hand and led him out from the hall, signing the policeman nearby to stop them from chasing. He wasn't aware that they both were practically holding hands now. But Gil let him.

"Well, that's effective," Gil sighed. "Now, Sally would kill me."

"I'm sorry," Nick said. He looked upset. "Now, what?'

Gil didn't answer for a long time. Finally, "I suppose things would turn a bit interesting now."

end part 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I left this unfinished years and years ago (more than 5 years ago, I think), and lost the files. I do attempt to continue , but at the moment, please consider this story in a permanent hiatus.

**Author's Note:**

> If you find this in a not so great setting, forgive me. I copy paste directly from the page it's archived and don't know much about html editing..


End file.
